


Three for Mercy

by booktick



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Empathy, Exhaustion, Inner Dialogue, M/M, POV Charles, Protectiveness, charles has a soft spot for bj and hawkeye, i don't really have a specific episode for this one, idk what else to tag, it's my first mash fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: He may have remained oblivious, and mostly likely would always be so, to some of the more personal details of BJ Hunnicutt and Hawkeye Pierce but Charles Emerson Winchester III was no fool.





	Three for Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

* * *

He may have remained oblivious, and mostly likely would always be so, to some of the more personal details of BJ Hunnicutt and Hawkeye Pierce but Charles Emerson Winchester III was no fool. He had taken it upon himself to busy his hands, whether by surgery or reading or playing his music. It was easier to push through when he was busy. He did wonder, on occasion, whether Hunnicutt or Pierce did something similar--to pass the time. Idle hands can prove most taxing in the middle of a war. 

The Post Op was a similar disarray. Patients lined up in cots, with two doctors giving such a performance it could rival Groucho Marx himself. He had tried, out of pure desperation, to settle boys' antics to no end. They both called him sour puss and barked such a laughter than it still tinged in his ears. His resting patients, he was sure, had found no such familar humour in the response. So, with no Potter in sight, he had gone where medical supplies was beginning to wear thin and found the first nurse he could. _Margaret Houlihan._

"I must insist, Major," he began "That Pierce and Hunnicutt are removed from the grounds until further notice. They disturb the patients as much as it is-"

"On what grounds? It's _all_ ground," There was far more bite in her words today, " _Doctor_." She pushed past him, one arm against his chest for a moment.

"They are," he followed close behind, "They are behaving as though they are schoolchildren that have separated from their parents."

"Oh no," she picked up a few of the stacked boxes, arms tight around them "Not _that_. Anything but _that_."

His brows burrowed deep between his eyes, "You're beginning to sound as if you aren't taking this serious." A huff followed his words, "I cannot find a moment's rest. Between them and the shellings-"

"I'm afraid," she interrupted "You're just going to have to make do, sir. And what if more wounded come in? You'll need all hands on deck, hm?" Her eyebrows raised high, for emphasis perhaps he wasn't entirely sure.

Charles was running low on patience. His eyes shut briefly before he, reluctantly, opened them. His arm lifted as he placed a hand on the open doorway to the shed, knuckles white from how hard he gripped and due to the cold most likely.

"And, as of now, I'm on a break. Excuse me." With a nod and a thin smile, she hurried her way out of the shed, ducking under his arm.

"Well." He pulled his arm away from the doorway, the bitterness of the incoming weather biting at his hands as he placed them upon his hips, "Bully for you."

This would not do, no. He refused to go down without a fight. He may have been placed in the Swamp, but it was the Swamp who would have to deal with Charles Emerson Winchester III. He managed to sneak past the conniving duo at lunch and take refuge with Klinger. The man rattled on about the weather being disagreeable with his current wardrobe and something about his coats not being enough to cover the family jewels. Max Klinger had _such_ a way with words.

He listened to Klinger as long as he could bare. As much as he enjoyed Max's company, the last thing he wanted to hear was the women he had met at Rosie's Bar. Max could be so informal and loud regarding such matters as Rosie's Bar. If he could just convince Max to listen to one of his records or take to a book, they could have such conversations. Once, he managed to get the man to speak on the Roman Empire.

It may have been only a few minutes and too many weeks ago but it was calmer than recent affairs at the camp. He'd take that conversation with Klinger over the last two weeks. But, no, Max was far too engrossed in matters of the flesh and warming one's self with it in these chilled times.

By shere luck, Klinger found company elsewhere in a corner and he could scatter. He saw no sign of the dastardly duo at his heels--thank God. The Swamp welcomed him for what was left of his own break until he is called to surgery once more. Out of fuel, he tried to take to the back room of Post Op for his moments between work as he had before, even as Pierce and Hunnicutt spoke of likes and dislikes of foods and the carnivals neither had seen in some time. He should have gone to Radar instead of Margaret.

This place would surely be his ruin.

Sirens blared soon after his thoughts had been collected. Wounded. They barely had enough room left. He dragged himself in and did what was needed. It was hours into work, rest, work and the ins and outs of wounded that Charles found his inner fight begin to lower his guard. He had taken to the back room of Post Op once again after surgeries had come to another stand still. But it always begged the question:  _For how long?_

He sat upon a bench, his back to a wall and sleep clawing at his face. He could not let himself accept it though. His eyelids drooped, one could mistake it for sleep, yet his eyes watched the two doctors, whom were deep in slumber, not too far from him. A mix match of doctors on a single cot, tangled limbs and a snore to match. Exhaustion, they would quickly say to excuse such behavior to anyone who grew concern or tried to wake them no doubt.

But Charles knew better.

He tilted his head back so his throat was bare to the world. His eye remained on Pierce and Hunnicutt all the while. The mess of dark hair against light. He wondered, for no particular reason, what it felt like upon one's hand. Did BJ touch Pierce in such a personal way even while he slept? He had seen such things in action. Late night dreams and soothing words in the Swamp. All the while, dear Charles was asleep. Or so most nights it seemed. A buttoned lip was no trouble from him. Though...

If he were to wake them now, would they scramble to excuse their behavior? String up some sort of a story, due to their work perhaps or even the war itself could be put upon their silver platter to be presented--it would not matter. Charles would accept their words with little resistance and not further question it. Everyone needs a careful hand on an open wound, and war had plenty of that.

But they looked so terribly...at peace. Their soft breaths upon each other's hands as they remained curled against the other, arms hooked together. How warm it must have been to be embraced in such a way. The blanket upon them both did little hide their bodies, no wonder they sought each other's heat. The weather had grown worst in a matter of days and it would only grow colder within the week.

Exhaustion, chills and acceptance--all together before him. Such a sight to behold, he would not forget this. He swore to himself he would never tell either of the gentlemen of such things. No need for things to get sentimental. This was not his moment after all, it was theirs. 

Charles shut his eyes, their image frozen inside his head. It felt like an eternity before he opened them again. He didn't make any effort to wake them despite the fact a patient may require them. He would let them rest for now. Hopefully, they would have at least five minutes more. War could take away so much and give nothing in return. So many wounded and rushing around, neither having a moment for themselves of the late. He nearly felt selfish for his earlier rest at the Swamp.

Hunnicutt and Pierce could have this moment, surely the battlefield would be too busy to take that away too.

"Dr. Hunnicutt-" he heard someone near the doors.

Charles shot up from his seat, eyes widened. He looked to his companions and they remained asleep in the cot, though they stir some at the voice. He hurried to the door without second thought and pushed his way through it, a tower over one Major Margaret Houlihan. He blocked the view of Hunnicutt and Pierce easily.

"May I help you?" His lips curled upward.

"I was looking for Dr. Hunnicutt-" she tried to look past him, leaning to the side.

He leaned in closer, eyes catching hers "Perhaps I can be of assistance, Major?" His arm went over her back, not touching but guiding her away from the doors. 

Margaret tried to look back once more but the door shut away what was behind it. And Charles carried on with questions regarding their current lineup of patients in recovery. She was more than happy to answer them and for that he was grateful. He may not necessarily have the same understanding that Hunnicutt and Pierce held between themselves, however, if...

Well, war is war. And peace is hard to come by.


End file.
